


Host

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [43]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some aliens want Trip’s help, possibly at the cost of his own life. Hard decisions must be made. For Mal, the decisions are not hard at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"Hey, uh, Boodge, could you hand me that hypospanner?" It was all Trip could do to pronounce the alien's name without smirking. Juvenile, yes, and certainly his own name was no paragon of dignity among humans, but there it was.

His host looked like a "boodge," too, if such a thing were possible. Short, bald, with greyish-yellow skin and no neck, the Chief Engineer of the Kasaran ship resembled a slightly blobby little humanoid half-formed from some unpleasant substance, then left out in the rain.

In other words, Trip highly doubted he'd be getting pregnant on this mission.

Having not received the requested tool, Trip looked over at the alien who was supposedly supervising his repair efforts. As near as Trip could tell, the man was staring off at nothing. "Boodge," Trip prompted, finally gaining the alien's attention. "The hypospanner?"

Lethargically Boodge passed Trip the tool. That was another thing about these Kasarans: they were pretty d—n sluggish in behavior. Since it kinda went with their appearance Trip supposed he shouldn't be all that surprised, but it still struck him as a little weird. He had seen the engines of species who had low metabolic rates, who had designed their technology with their own extremely laid-back culture in mind, and the Kasarans' engines were just _not_ of that type.

"C'mere so I can show you something," Trip requested, voicing the remark a good sixty seconds before he was actually ready. It would take Boodge at least that long to crawl over to him—one of the little tricks Trip had learned to reduce his own impatience. "Now you see these nodes here?" Trip gestured inside the panel he had open and Boodge nodded. "Now these need to be cleaned about once a month. You know? You gotta scrape the debris off with a laser file, make sure you get it all. Probably take a couple hours."

"Every month?" Boodge repeated. He tapped listlessly at his data pad. "Oh, yes, Gorsch used to do that. I think the last time we cleaned them was…"

"I'm guessin' eight or nine months, from the amount of debris," Trip cut in. Gorsch was the ship's original Chief Engineer. What had happened to him or her had never been made clear to Trip, but he was willing to bet Boodge hadn't been the first replacement—judging by the current Chief Engineer's general lack of engineering knowledge. For once Trip was being tactful and not saying anything about it; he got the impression that Boodge himself would be far happier back in Astrometrics or the galley or wherever he'd come from.

"Hello," said a third voice, and Trip suppressed a sigh as he looked up from his work. All the Kasarans had been reasonably friendly, but they were so easily distracted; it would probably take Trip a good five minutes to coax Boodge back to work after their visitor left.

Dr. Nuggle was, at least, slightly more energetic than the engineering staff Trip had met. She gave him an actual facial expression, the Kasaran equivalent of a smile, and casually scanned the area with her ever-present medical instrument. Another thing about these aliens—they loved their biometric data.

"Oh, hi, Doc," Trip greeted. Boodge merely blinked. "Um, how are you?" Since he'd been onboard the Kasaran ship he'd seen more of their Chief Medical Officer than anyone else, except Boodge.

"I am functioning," Dr. Nuggle assured him. "How are your repairs going?"

"Well, it's kinda slow and tedious," Trip admitted, "but I reckon you guys'll be back on track soon." Things would go considerably faster if he didn't have to keep goosing the Kasaran engineers back to work every few minutes, or repeating his explanations of how to do things. The place would be swimming with Trip's own people if he had his way, who would have this engine room cleaned up in no time, but the process of adapting to the Kasaran environment was a lengthy one and the single working decompression chamber could hold only one human at a time. It had taken nearly eight hours just to get Trip, two assistants, and two Security personnel adjusted and working.

"I'm glad to hear that, Commander," Dr. Nuggle responded, but she sounded a little distracted.

Trip looked up to see her scanning Boodge intently. "Anything wrong?"

"Oh, nothing to concern yourself with," the doctor replied, and she seemed to mean it. She was helping Boodge to his feet and Trip moved in to assist, but she waved him off. "Commander Boodge just needs to rest now," she told Trip, a little too brightly. The two aliens moved off towards the door, stopping to speak to one of Boodge's assistants on the way out.

After a moment the woman joined Trip nervously. "Dunta, right?" he remembered.

"That's right," she confirmed. She picked up the data pad Boodge had left behind. "What were you saying about cleaning… nodes?" She clearly had no idea what she was talking about.

This time Trip let his sigh escape. "So what happened to Boodge?"

"He just needs to rest," Dunta replied evasively.

"Well, when do you think he'll come back?" Trip persisted.

Dunta shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm the Chief Engineer now, so…"

Trip rubbed his eyes tiredly. D—n. This was the craziest ship he'd ever been on.

 

"I'm tellin' ya, Captain, there's something wacky going on over there."

"Perhaps you could elaborate on the term 'wacky,'" T'Pol requested coolly.

Trip gave her a look. "I was about to ask the same thing," Archer seconded, a slight smile playing at his lips. He leaned back in his chair in his Ready Room, glad to have his Chief Engineer sitting on the couch across from him and not gazing back from the bowels of an alien ship with an hour-long decompression process keeping them apart. He had to agree with Trip anyway—he thought there was something a little off about their new friends, too.

With T'Pol giving him that piercing gaze that challenged him to put his instincts into logical, orderly words, Trip struggled to come up with the appropriate statements that would convince her. "Most of the problems I found were caused by improper maintenance of the engines," Trip began. "Neglect of routine checks and cleaning, or basic jobs repeatedly done incorrectly. Goes along with my impression that the engineering staff were mostly unfamiliar with the equipment around them."

"Inefficient, certainly," T'Pol remarked, and Trip _thought_ she was being supportive of his ideas. "It's possible that the ship is not of Kasaran origin." At Archer's intrigued look she went on, "Although we have little information on the Kasarans specifically, there are other species who are known to steal or salvage whatever ships they encounter and use them as their own. Perhaps the Kasarans found that their latest acquisition was more difficult to deconstruct than they had anticipated."

Trip was unconvinced. "I dunno. Maybe. But it's like—the people in Engineering don't seem to know much about engineering _period_ , no matter what design. And there's such high turnover—they went through three different Chief Engineers while I was there!"

A smirk threatened to break out on Archer's face. "I seem to recall a story about how you and Marcus were allegedly rotating Captains of _Enterprise_."

"Well that was different—" Trip began quickly.

"I am unaware of this particular incident," T'Pol admitted. "Please elaborate."

"It was nothing," Trip insisted. He didn't need _everyone_ on the ship knowing about his Risan misadventures. "Nothing _serious_. Anyway," he continued hurriedly, "even if some culture _did_ have rotating positions, I'd think they'd pick someone who actually _knew_ how to do the job. I mean, geez, I had to explain even the most basic maintenance tasks to them four or five times before they got what I meant."

"Comprehension can be a matter of perspective," T'Pol reminded him. "It's possible the Universal Translator was not rendering your words accurately. Also, early Vulcan scientists on Earth were required to exercise _considerable_ patience when dealing with their human colleagues."

Archer moved to head off Trip's retort to T'Pol's jab. "What happened to the outgoing Chief Engineers?" he asked, curious. "Did they show up somewhere else in the crew?"

Trip shook his head. "Not that I saw. Someone—usually the doctor—would just say they got 'tired'."

"Tired?" Archer repeated with a frown.

"Possibly this species has an unusual metabolic cycle," T'Pol offered. "They may require periods of rest much more frequently than humans do."

"Maybe you just wore them out, Trip," Archer teased.

The engineer was still unsatisfied. "Nah—there's something weirder than that goin' on, I'm sure of it… Hey, how about how tired they all seemed? Kinda poky and sluggish?"

"Again attributable to a metabolic rate unlike that of humans," T'Pol pointed out.

"Don't tell us—early Vulcan scientists on Earth found humans 'poky'?" Archer guessed with as straight a face as he could manage.

"I am sure they used a less colloquial term," T'Pol replied.

Trip refused to give up. "What about the fact that I hardly ever saw or heard from their captain, only the ship's doctor—Nuggle?" Trip had gotten used to saying the Kasarans' names; but Archer still had to suppress a juvenile giggle at the sound.

T'Pol had an answer for this one as well. "Not all cultures have a similar hierarchy aboard their ships, or assign the same duties to each position. The captain may not have felt it necessary to keep in contact with you. Or, the ship's doctor may be the ranking officer and thus your primary contact."

"I think Phlox said once that on Denobulan medical vessels, the 'captain' is basically like the chief steward," Archer added, amusement slightly tinged with discomfort. "The chief surgeon has far more decision-making power."

"Precisely," T'Pol agreed.

Both officers looked at Trip to see if he was mollified by the many suggestions they'd offered. He wasn't. Not that it really mattered; he'd done all he could for the Kasarans in the time available, and neither he nor anyone else from _Enterprise_ was going back there, at least he hoped not. The ship was still hovering off _Enterprise_ 's bow, performing a few "last minute" checks that would likely take hours, and then the two groups were due to part ways. Trip would brush them out of his overcrowded mind within a few days.

The door chime beeped. "Come in," Archer allowed.

Mal appeared in the doorway, giving Trip a hopeful look. "D—n," the engineer sighed, glancing at the chrono. "It's snack time, isn't it?" Mal nodded and crossed the Ready Room floor without so much as a glance at Archer or T'Pol and took up his favorite position—kneeling between Trip's feet, leaning half over his lap.

"Can I eat this now, please?" he asked, producing a bag of granola from his pocket.

"Yeah, go ahead," Trip told him, ruffling his hair. "Sorry I forgot, buddy, I'm all out of whack from being on that ship."

"That's okay." Mal wrapped his arms around Trip's waist and squeezed affectionately. "I'm _so_ glad you're back. But I _was_ getting a _bit_ hungry waiting out there…"

"You know, I've told you before that if you're hungry you should just go ahead and eat," Trip reminded him.

Mal trickled some granola into his mouth, spilling a fair portion of it on Trip's lap and Archer's couch. "That's far too much responsibility," he assured Trip. "I shouldn't be able to decide when."

"When you're hungry enough to eat?" Archer proposed.

"More like, when he's full enough to _stop_ ," Trip smirked. "Hope he didn't bug you guys too much while I was gone."

"Only the usual amount," Jon grinned. Mal didn't seem to take offense.

"Perhaps less than usual," T'Pol judged critically. "I believe as Mal matures he is becoming less dependent upon others."

"Well heaven forbid," Trip chuckled, scratching Mal behind his ear. "What am I gonna do when you're all grown up and don't need me anymore?"

"Don't worry, Trip," Mal replied, scattering more granola crumbs. "That won't ever happen."

 

Now Trip was just confused. The Kasaran ship had been floating silently beside _Enterprise_ for a good eight hours since the last human left, and Trip had figured that any time now he'd be getting a call from whoever the Chief Engineer was now saying, 'Thanks for the help, see you around the galaxy.' Or at the very least, a message from the Bridge saying their eccentric new pals had decided to leave without offering any closing thoughts. Instead, he'd gotten a call from Jon—sounding far more serious than usual—asking him to come down to Sickbay to 'discuss' something.

"I mean, that's never a good sign," he concluded to Mal, who shook his head in sober agreement.

"No, I think something's wrong," Mal told him, a troubled expression on his face.

"Not something with _me_." It was half assertion, half guess.

"I don't see how," Mal replied. "I would have noticed. Maybe you offended the Kasarans somehow, and now they want to punish you," he speculated. "That's happened before." Trip winced at the memory. "Well, don't worry, Trip," Mal continued brightly. "I won't let them hurt you."

"That's good to know," Trip deadpanned as they walked into Sickbay.

Archer and Phlox broke off their conversation and regarded Trip critically as he entered, and the engineer's gut reaction went from bad to worse. "What's goin' on?"

"How do you feel, Commander Tucker?" Phlox asked clinically, aiming his scanner at him.

Well, gee, now that you ask… "Um, I'm fine, Doc. Why?"

Everyone was silent for a moment as Phlox regarded the results of his brief scan. "Well?" prompted Archer.

"Negative," Phlox revealed, and Jon seemed relieved. "I would like to do a more thorough scan in the imaging chamber, however."

"Now just hang on a second," Trip interrupted, slightly peeved. "What the h—l's goin' on?"

Archer and Phlox shared a look, then as if in response to an unspoken agreement their postures changed. Trip suddenly had the feeling he was in for a long story whose ending he wasn't going to like.

"Does this have anything to do with the Kasarans?" he guessed wildly.

"You were right, Trip," Archer revealed. "There _is_ something strange about them."

"Well?" Trip asked into the long pause that followed. "What is it?"

"They're sick," Archer told him simply.

"Well of course!" It all made sense now. "That's why they were so sluggish, always changin' around—and why the routine maintenance wasn't gettin' done." Trip shook his head. "D—n. The whole crew, I guess?"

"The whole civilization," Phlox corrected. Trip stared at him. "And not just sick. Dying."

"Dying?"

"It's not contagious, at least not for non-Kasarans," Archer assured him. Trip hadn't even thought to ask. "But it's devastated their people. Millions have died on their homeworld. Do you remember the man who was Chief Engineer when you first began working on their ship?"

"Boodge?"

Archer didn't even crack a smile at the name now. "He's critically ill. Dr. Nuggle says he'll probably be dead in a few hours."

This was not what Trip had been expecting. "J---s," he breathed. He looked up at Phlox hopefully. "Well, can't you help 'em, Doc? You've come up with cures for tougher things before…"

"They already have a cure," Phlox told him, and now Trip was totally confused.

"Well if they've already got one, why don't they—"

"What's all this got to do with Trip?" Mal interrupted suspiciously, and for the first time Trip realized he hadn't taken up his usual kneeling position on the floor of Sickbay.

"The disease is complex," Phlox began, "the cure equally so. Theoretically they believe it will work. But they've been unable to synthesize enough of it to make any progress."

Trip knew as little about biology as he could get away with. Circuitry and power couplers made far more sense to him than enzymes and cells. "I don't understand, Doc," he admitted. "Do they want us to build them some kinda special protein resequencer or…?"

"The antibodies to the pathogen that causes the disease can only be successfully synthesized in a living host," Phlox went on. Trip nodded slowly. "Unfortunately, no native Kasaran creature has been found to produce the antibodies—they all succumb to the illness. Their immune systems are not equipped to fight it."

"The Kasarans have done a lot of research on this, Trip," Jon added. "They've met a number of other species out here, tested them to find compatible hosts. They've always been unsuccessful. Until now."

"Humans, right?" Trip guessed. "Humans are compatible hosts for this—whatever."

"Not _all_ humans," Phlox corrected. "The combination of chemistries must be very precise."

"You, Trip," Archer finally stated. "They think _you_ would be compatible. To make the cure for their disease."

Trip gaped for a moment. "Me?"

"That's why I scanned you when you came in," Phlox explained reluctantly. "The Captain and I wanted to make certain that, in their excitement at finding a compatible host, the Kasarans hadn't… infected you without your consent. They hadn't."

"J---s," Trip repeated, trying to take it all in. "Well, um, sure," he answered automatically, as Archer knew he would. Trip always led more with his heart than his head. "I mean—it's not fatal for humans, right?"

"I reviewed their data," Phlox told him, some hesitation in his tone. "The experience would not be pleasant. The symptoms would be severe. It would be irresponsible of me not to warn you that there _is_ a risk of death or permanent injury, although both are far from certain."

"It's up to you, Trip," Jon said quickly. "I can't tell you what decision to make. But I'll support whatever you decide."

There was only one possible choice Trip could make—according to what Jon and Phlox had said, an entire civilization of sentient beings was counting on him to try and save them. He wanted to hear more about those 'severe symptoms' first. But in the end, Trip knew that he would have to say—

"No."

The two officers and the doctor turned to stare at the fourth person in the room, who was so often easily forgotten.

"No," Mal repeated firmly, looking from one person to another. "He's not doing it."

Trip sighed. "Mal, look—I know this is gonna upset you, but I need to do this. These people are gonna die if I—if _we_ —don't help them." He cupped Mal's cheek affectionately, looking into those oh-so-serious blue-grey eyes. "It'll be okay. I promise. Alright?" Trip turned back to Phlox. "So what kind of symptoms—"

"I will not allow it."

Trip took a breath, grabbed hold of his temper, and faced Mal again. "Buddy. I know this is kind of a shock. Believe me, I had no idea those squishy little fellas were hidin' this kind of a secret." He tried to smile a little; Mal refused to respond in kind. "But this is exactly what we're out here to do—meet new people, try to help them if we can. I'm not really lookin' forward to this particular job, but—"

"This isn't your job," Mal interrupted fiercely. "Frankly I've never understood why you were supposed to act as mechanic to half the galaxy, but you're an engineer, you fix engines. Fine." The words were spat out rapid-fire, and Trip was shocked to hear one of the complaints he himself had voiced—privately—laid out. "And you've done it. You've fixed their engines. Your duty to those people is done."

Trip's temper tugged at its leash, hard. "Stop being difficult, Mal," he snapped. "It's _my_ decision to make, and I've made it." He whirled on Phlox. "I'll sign on the dotted line, Doc. Let's get started."

Archer held up a placating hand. "Don't rush into anything, Trip," he insisted gently. "Maybe you need to think about this more. A few hours—"

"How many more people are gonna die because of those few hours?" Trip argued, turning his frustration on Jon. "Thousands? Tens of thousands? My decision won't be any different in a few hours, Jon. You knew what it would be the moment you heard about this."

Jon had to admit that was true. "If you're certain—"

"I will not allow it," Mal repeated resolutely.

" _Will you f-----g shut up and go eat some pudding?!_ " Jon winced on Mal's behalf at the patronizing bite in Trip's tone, but for once the dark-haired man didn't seem to notice it.

"This is not your job, you don't know these people, and I will not allow you to foolishly place yourself in harm's way for them," Mal told Trip with cold matter-of-factness.

"Foolishly?" Trip repeated, incensed. He'd never seen Mal act this way, and it was pretty unnerving. "You're not so bright yourself, you know. Phlox has got tranquilizers with your name on 'em if you get in the way!"

Archer gave Trip an exasperated look; it would have been far better _not_ to remind Mal of that fact. Especially as Phlox had just slipped a couple in his pocket.

But maybe they could still convince Mal with reason. Archer would hate to face the man after knocking him out so they could all conspire to harm his beloved Trip. And maybe, somehow, Jon would end up convincing _himself_ that this wasn't the worst possible decision Trip had ever made, in a long history with a lot of competition for the title. Even though he had known it was the only possible outcome—just as Trip had said.

"Mal," Jon began, in what he hoped was a level tone of voice, "think about the consequences of what you want. It's risky for Trip, yes, and it will be painful—but he's very likely to survive." Now would _not_ be the time for Phlox to cut in and amend 'very likely' to just 'likely.' Fortunately he didn't. "If he doesn't do this, this entire species may very well be condemned to death." And even as he said it there was something in Jon that replied—

"Then let them die."

"You don't mean that," Trip insisted.

Mal stepped around him to face Jon. "I've killed people before, to protect Trip," he stated coolly. "He doesn't like to remember that." And indeed Trip was shifting uncomfortably behind him. "But I think you keep a running count, Captain. I think you go over every detail." And how the h—l did this man get to know _him_ so well? "Have you ever heard me express any remorse, for causing harm to protect Trip?"

"Never," Archer affirmed. "But that doesn't make it right." That was the Captain speaking.

"And no one is gonna let that happen here," Trip asserted. "We are not gonna let these people die, when we can do something to help them."

"Fine," Mal conceded, as if it were a minor point. "But are we absolutely certain the cure must involve Trip?"

This was not a Mal Jon was accustomed to seeing, and to be honest he was… intrigued. He was used to thinking of Trip's constant shadow as cute, annoying, funny, and yes on occasion dangerous—but never as particularly intelligent, frankly. Never as someone to whom he would say,

"What did you have in mind?"

"I've read that on Earth it was once standard practice to use lower animals in laboratory experiments involving dangerous compounds," Mal noted. "Doctor, have you tested all of your creatures here, to see if they would be compatible hosts for the Kasarans?"

Archer looked at the physician expectantly, really hoping he had thought to do this before laying the burden on a member of his crew. "Yes, I have," Phlox confirmed. "And they will not be suitable."

"What about the animals in the Xenozoology labs?" Mal persisted.

"What about Porthos?" The words were out of Jon's mouth before he could think through them too much. He ignored the surprised looks and waited for Phlox's reply.

"Porthos is not compatible," the doctor answered. "And I have not examined the Xenozoology specimens. I could, of course, though it would take some time, and I would be extremely surprised if any of them met the Kasarans' stringent medical requirements."

"What about the rest of the crew?"

"Hey!" Trip snapped. "There is no way that I am lettin' some other person on the crew take my place just to keep _you_ happy. I'm a senior officer on this ship, and it _is_ my job to help protect this crew."

"Just out of curiosity, Doctor," Archer said, "how likely do you think it that someone else in the crew would be a compatible host?"

Phlox gave a shrug. "Dr. Nuggle indicated that of the five humans to board the Kasaran ship, only Commander Tucker would be suitable."

"So, twenty percent then, potentially?" Archer hoped.

Phlox gave him a small smile. "I'm afraid the laws of probability are not quite that simple, Captain. The balance of enzymes, hormones, genetic factors, metabolic rate—it would be a rare convergence of many different conditions."

"Too rare for there to be another suitable host on the ship?" Mal pressed.

"Given the parameters laid out by the Kasarans…" Phlox hedged. "Perhaps one or two others. But," he added quickly, seeing Mal's triumphant look, "complete testing of humanoids would take at _least_ four hours per person. Which could of course be done," he deferred to Archer, "but as Commander Tucker pointed out, in that time, a great many more people could die."

"And for what?" Trip demanded. "We've already _got_ someone we know will work. Me."

"There's no quick test you could do, Doctor?" Now that Archer had gotten this idea in his head, he couldn't seem to shake it. "Nothing that would at least help you narrow down the pool of candidates?"

Trip interrupted before Phlox could respond. "We don't need _candidates_! I'll do it! Why are we still debating this?" He faced Archer, blue eyes serious. "Jon, we could take a week and test every person on this ship—"

"Actually it would take _two_ weeks," Mal corrected.

Trip ignored him. "—and I gotta say, I can't think of anyone in this crew who would refuse to help if you brought the problem to them. Because that's the kind of crew you picked for _Enterprise_." Jon had to agree—that would be his guess as well. "But if we did all that, tested everyone, came up with two or three other people who would work—who could they possibly be, that you could let them volunteer over me? I'm the third-ranking officer. I could never tell some ensign in Astrometrics, or a crewman in Maintenance, that they have to do this instead of me. That they're less important to the ship than I am." Trip gave Jon a look. "I've known you ten years, Jon. I know you could never tell them that either. It's _my_ place to do this."

Trip's words made sense, even though Jon didn't want them to. Maybe on a Vulcan ship they would say it was logical to ask a lower-ranking crewmember to sacrifice themselves so someone with more experience could survive. But to Jon that idea was repugnant. There was no one on his ship that he, the Captain, wouldn't sacrifice _himself_ to save. Chief Engineer or not. Friend or not. And suddenly his next order to Phlox was perfectly clear.

"Test me," Archer said.

Phlox got the face he made when he thought his human compatriots were being slightly ridiculous. "Captain, we have _no_ indication that you would be compatible—"

"Jon, we're just wasting time—" Trip began.

"Before you administer this—disease, or whatever," Archer cut in, "test me. If I'm compatible, I'll do it."

"Of all the idiotic—Jon, you're the d—n Captain!" Trip protested.

Archer gave his friend a grim smile. "What were you saying about higher-ranking officers not being more important?"

"You know I didn't mean—"

"I certainly couldn't ask anyone else on my crew to do this without at _least_ finding out if I could take their place," Archer said firmly. "As the _highest_ ranking officer, it's my job to protect the crew as well. My _primary_ job."

The slight pause that followed was broken by Mal. " _If_ you're both done swooping in to play the self-sacrificing hero," he said in a rather snide tone that Jon didn't particularly care for, "let me throw my own idea into the mix. Test me."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Mal, you're not even human," he pointed out. "That's gotta be a huge strike against you right from the start."

He looked towards Phlox for support but received none. "Not necessarily," the doctor speculated. "The Kasarans' data does not indicate they've ever tested Viridians, and the required conditions _are_ theoretically compatible with Mal's physiology."

"And speaking of duty, Captain," Mal went on, "my duty is to protect Trip. If I can do that by acting as a—laboratory animal in his stead, then I am fulfilling my purpose. In fact, this is my _only_ purpose—I cannot fix warp engines, I cannot lead a crew, I can't even _cook_. There should be no question that if I _can_ do this, I _should_. Besides which," he added, "if Trip dies from this, I'll die as well anyway."

"Buddy, come on, no," Trip tried, reaching out to him. Mal accepted Trip's hug but refused to yield his position. "I know you _want_ to do this, but it just isn't practical—the odds that both you and I would match have gotta be astronomical. You can't— _love_ your way into havin' matching enzymes." Trip directed this comment towards Jon as well.

"All I'm asking for is to be tested," Mal persisted to Archer. "Test me, and then use me if I match. I'm not a member of Starfleet; you don't have the same obligation to me that you have to the rest of the crew. I have no irreplaceable skills that will be lost if something bad happens. And," he added, playing his trump card, "I heal faster than humans. That should make me more likely to survive with fewer side effects."

Trip pulled Mal fully into his arms. "There's no point to this, darlin'," he said softly into his ear. "You're not gonna match. You're just delayin' the inevitable." He pulled back a little to smile at Mal. "Besides, I'm supposed to take care of _you_. So even if you matched I wouldn't let you do it."

Mal gave Archer a look over Trip's shoulder and Jon knew exactly what it meant. If Mal matched as well as Trip, then it would be the Captain's decision which volunteer to use.

Archer thought for a long moment. Then he faced Phlox.

"Test me. And test Mal. Inform the Kasarans we'll be ready to begin in eight hours."

 

Dr. Phlox worked quickly. In slightly over seven hours he presented himself in Archer's Ready Room, results in hand. Per the Captain's orders, no one else had seen them yet.

"Well?"

Phlox tried for a smile. "I'm afraid the question of whether one can _love_ enzyme profiles into alignment remains unresolved," he remarked. "You are not compatible. But Mal is."

Archer digested the news silently. "Can I see the…"

Phlox laid three data pads before him. "These are Commander Tucker's results, as determined by the Kasarans and confirmed to a practical extent by me. These are Mal's. And these are yours."

Archer glanced blankly over the columns of numbers and figures. "I'm gonna need a little help interpreting this," he admitted. Phlox gave it.

After a few minutes, the doctor prompted gently, "Captain, it would be best to begin the preparations as soon as possible. Have you made your decision?"

Archer nodded slowly and pushed one data pad apart from the others. "Him."

"I see," Phlox commented evenly. "According to Denobulan medical ethics, a patient in an experimental program—which I believe this situation qualifies as—must be informed of all risks and circumstances prior to participation."

"Of course," Archer agreed, standing. "We'll do that together. Let's go get him."

"We should probably take some—precautions," Phlox advised. "To prevent any difficulties." Archer nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

Mal was in the Mess Hall, trying to choose between an apple and a piece of blueberry pie for his snack. They both had their advantages, but which was he more in the mood for? The apple would be easier to carry back to Engineering for Trip's approval, but the pie would probably be less messy to actually _eat_ … He felt someone come up behind him and decided he would have to defer his decision until he could consult with Trip—which naturally meant bringing back one of each item up for consideration.

"It might be better if you didn't eat anything just yet," Phlox said to him quietly, and Mal froze with his hand reaching towards the pie. He didn't sense that the doctor planned to harm Trip. Which could only mean one thing.

Slowly Mal turned to face the Denobulan. He wondered if he and the Captain had deliberately waited until he was apart from Trip and decided that yes, they probably had. It would indeed make things a little easier, in some ways.

"You should come with me to the Decon chamber right away," Phlox continued, in the same low, even voice. The Mess Hall was not very crowded right now; but it was better to be discreet.

Mal nodded and began to walk with him away from the food. Suddenly he wasn't really hungry anymore anyway. "When will I get to see Trip?" he asked as they left the Mess Hall and headed down the corridor.

"After we've begun," Phlox replied. "You'll have to stay in Decon for the duration, however, as a precaution."

Archer joined them halfway there. "He's still in Engineering," he reported to the doctor.

"He's going to be very upset with you," Mal warned, though he realized it was unnecessary.

Archer stared straight ahead. "I know. But you're the better choice."

"There are some things you must be made aware of, about the possible symptoms and so forth," Phlox added. "It would be unethical for me to proceed without your fully informed consent."

Mal nodded. It felt very strange, being escorted through the halls by the Captain and the doctor; the two men flanked him like stone-faced guards leading a prisoner to the place of execution. But death wasn't a certainty, Mal reminded himself. And seeing Trip suffer would be far worse than suffering himself.

"I'm ready."

 

Trip really wanted his coffee. So why wasn't a pale hand holding the cup out for him? And why wasn't a clipped voice asking permission to eat a snack? The engineer glanced at the chrono. Mal had wandered off to the Mess Hall nearly twenty minutes earlier. Trip sent him a mental kick in the pants, imagining him dithering over choices in the food case.

"Commander," one of his staff alerted him, and Trip looked up to see Archer standing in the doorway of Engineering. His expression was sober, but oddly Trip felt a sense of relief. Finally, they were going to get started on this.

He picked up the data pad he'd been saving for the last several hours. "Give this to Hess," he told the ensign he'd been working with. "Tell her she's in charge while I'm gone." And if anything… went wrong, the data pad included his recommendation of her for Chief Engineer alongside the other instructions.

Trip joined Jon near the door with a dry smirk. "Guess I know where Mal is now," he cracked. "Hope you knocked him out good, if you just penned him up somewhere he'll find a way—"

"Trip." The engineer stopped talking at the interruption, searching his friend's face with a frown.

"Well what's the matter, Jon, you're not—" It was the flicker of guilt that gave him away. "You son of a b---h." The words hissed out in reaction to the ideas flashing through Trip's mind, before he could even articulate them. "Mal's a match. And you picked him. YOU SON OF A B‑‑‑H!" Everyone in Engineering heard that last one and looked over to see Trip shove his Captain aside and race out the door.

He could hear Archer yelling after him as he ran down the hall, but Trip just ran faster and the shouts died away. He practically broke down the door to Sickbay, searching every niche. "Mal! Phlox!"

A movement caught his eye and Trip turned to one of the computer monitors. Mal was on it, staring straight at Trip as if he could actually see him through the screen. The monitor was labeled "Decon."

Phlox was standing outside the main door when Trip pounded up. "Open that door!" he demanded. Mal appeared at the window on the other side, a worried expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Phlox told him, "but that won't be possible."

"You d—n well better _make_ it possible!" Trip growled.

"Mal has already been infected with the Kasaran compound," Phlox explained as Archer jogged up. "As the disease adapts to his body it may become unpredictable. He must remain in isolation for the safety of the crew."

"You can't keep any door on this ship locked from _me_!" Trip threatened.

"Commander Tucker," Archer snapped. "You try to open that door and I will throw you in the Brig without a second thought."

"How could you do this to him?!" Trip shouted at Archer. "He can't even decide to _eat_ without asking me first! How could you let him agree to this?"

"He was the better choice, Trip," Archer replied resolutely. "For all the reasons _he_ gave. His job is to protect you. His _only_ job. As far as I'm concerned Mal is doing exactly what he's supposed to."

"He didn't sign up for this job!" Trip argued. "He didn't _choose_ to become— _attached_ to me, to go into space and face death on my behalf! It just happened! He _has_ to do it or he'll die!"

"That sounds like one more reason it _ought_ to be him in there, instead of _you_ ," Archer countered evenly.

Trip paced before the Decon chamber door, too furious to say anything coherent. Mal watched him unhappily. "Trip." His voice was strangely warped by the transmitter.

Trip stopped and faced him immediately, his expression less harsh. "Yes?"

"I wouldn't have let you do it," he reminded Trip, and Jon cringed at his tone. Gone was the self-confident, if slightly psychotic, adult willing to kill an entire civilization. The innocent, seemingly helpless youth had returned. Which wouldn't exactly help Trip see things from Jon's point of view.

"I know you woulda tried your best to stop me, buddy," Trip agreed, crowding against the window. "But it's _my_ duty to be in there."

Mal smiled a little. "Well, I'm only going to live another two or three years at most, you know—"

"Don't talk like that," Trip ordered.

"—but you've got a lot longer," Mal went on. "If there's something dangerous to be done, I ought to do it. While I can."

Something flickered across Mal's face for an instant. "Mal?" Trip said quickly. "What's wrong? Doc?"

"His temperature is rising slightly," Phlox reported, gazing at the monitor beside the door.

"Already?" Archer asked worriedly.

Phlox stared at the readings pensively. "His body is reacting more quickly than I had anticipated. Mal"—he directed his voice towards the chamber—"it would be best if you were to lie down now."

"But how shall I see Trip?" Mal asked, nibbling his lip nervously.

"Go and lie down, buddy," Trip encouraged. "I'll be right here at the window. You can still see me."

Mal went to the bed reluctantly, but without further argument; to Trip this indicated that he really wasn't feeling well at all. He curled up on his side, facing the door.

"You just go to sleep if you feel like it, buddy," Trip told him. "I'm gonna be right out here." Mal nodded tightly. Trip knew he must be terrified, despite his insistence on going through with this procedure. The procedure that Trip was supposed to have undergone.

Slowly the engineer wheeled around to face Phlox and Archer. "Permission to stay here, _sir_ ," he requested coldly, in a tone that said, _Just try and stop me_. "I've already left instructions for Lt. Hess."

"Granted," Archer replied. It was a given in his mind as well. "Trip—"

He turned his back on the Captain, resting his arms on the ledge under the window. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face as he caught Mal's eye, sending waves of encouragement towards him. Archer knew he had been dismissed.

 

When Trip couldn't stand up at the window any longer, he sat down on the deck plating and leaned against the door to the chamber. He could still see Mal on the monitor outside the door, and he knew Mal could sense his presence. Fortunately the Decon chamber was in an isolated corridor, so there weren't too many crewmembers who could wander by and see their Chief Engineer curled up uncomfortably in a corner of the hall.

Not that Trip really cared who saw him. He was too busy trying to control his thoughts, which for a naturally outspoken person was quite difficult. Occasionally he slipped into brooding about Jon—what the h—l was he thinking, letting _Mal_ decide to do this?—but he stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing. Those kind of thoughts wouldn't be good for Mal, and somehow Trip knew that Mal was clinging to every emotion he had, seeking comfort. So instead Trip focused on happy memories he had with Mal: watching upbeat musicals, playing with his remote-control ball, even just curling up together to read reports or talk about the day. If occasionally the icy tendrils of worry gripped him—what if he was never able to do any of those things with him again?—Trip shoved them aside ruthlessly.

"Trip?" A thin voice, followed by coughing. Trip immediately jumped up and stood at the window. Mal was curled up on the bed under a blanket, shivering but fighting a fever. According to Phlox his system hadn't yet started producing the antibodies the Kasarans longed for.

"I'm right here, buddy," Trip assured him.

"Could you get me some more water, Trip?" Mal sniffed plaintively. "Or maybe juice?"

"Yeah, I can send down to the kitchen for some juice," Trip told him. "You can get some water from the sink in the bathroom. Can you walk?"

Slowly Mal pushed himself into a sitting position, pausing for several minutes to rest after the exertion. Trip watched anxiously. Finally Mal opened his eyes again and gazed dully over the Decon chamber.

"It's so messy in here," he complained, noting the small mountain of tissues and stack of dishes with picked-over food littering the small space.

"That's okay, buddy," Trip soothed. "It's okay to be messy right now, because you're sick. Can you get to the sink for more water?" He didn't want Mal to become dehydrated.

Blanket wrapped tightly around him, Mal staggered into the bathroom. Trip contorted himself to see into the side room and finally had to switch to the computer monitor. "Get some water, buddy," he encouraged. "Fill up that glass. Take a big drink. That's it."

Mal leaned heavily against the sink. "I'm so tired now, Trip…"

"Well come on back to bed, then," Trip told him. "Can you make it back to bed?" Mal seemed very uncertain. "Just sit down right there on the floor for a little while, buddy." Mal did so, curling up on the bathroom floor with his blanket. Trip wished with every fiber of his being that he could be in there, putting Mal back to bed, cleaning up after him, bringing him juice. It would be far better than standing out in the hall, useless.

Closing the comm to the Decon chamber, Trip opened one to Sickbay. "Hey, Doc?"

" _Yes, Commander?_ "

"S'pose I take an EV suit and go into Decon," Trip suggested. "Would that be okay?"

" _I'm sorry, Commander_ ," Phlox responded, and he did indeed sound sorry. " _The Captain has issued strict orders forbidding you to enter the Decon chamber under any circumstances._ "

Well that figured, Trip decided. All part of Jon's screwed-up logic today— _he_ had tricked Trip, so naturally _Trip_ was the one who couldn't be trusted anymore. "Well could you go in, then?" Trip requested, forcing himself to say focused on the overall goal instead of arguing. "Or someone? Mal could use some help getting back in bed, and I think he'd feel better if someone cleaned the place up a bit."

" _Of course, Commander, I'll attend to it right away_."

"Oh, and Doc? He wants some juice… Would apple be okay?"

" _Certainly_."

"Thanks."

Trip called down to the kitchen for the juice, then opened the comm back up to the chamber. Mal was still lying on the bathroom floor. "Buddy? Hey, Mal?" The other man twitched and mumbled something. "Dr. Phlox is gonna come in there pretty soon to check on you, okay? Okay?" He knocked on the window. "Mal? Talk to me a little, buddy."

"I'm tired," Mal sighed. "My head is all fuzzy."

"I know, buddy. You think you can get back to bed? You'll be more comfortable there…" Mal started to whine. "Okay, okay, calm down there, buddy. You don't have to move just yet. The Doc's comin' in to help you soon anyway."

"Sir?" Trip turned to see a steward standing nearby, holding a sealed liquid container and a covered tray. "The apple juice you requested."

"Thanks." Trip took the container and inserted it into the bin connected to the Decon chamber. A blue light flashed, irradiating the h—l out of the juice _and_ the bin—wouldn't want to introduce any additional pathogens into Decon—then the all-clear light blinked. "Hey, buddy, got some juice for you in the bin," Trip tempted. Mal didn't seem interested enough to move. Well, that was okay, Phlox could get it when he arrived.

Trip realized the steward was still standing there and turned back to him questioningly. "For you, sir," the man said, holding out the tray.

Trip took it, confused. "I didn't order anything."

"Commander T'Pol ordered it for you, sir," the steward explained.

"Oh. Okay, thanks." The other man nodded and left. Trip cracked the lid and took a peek, and the rich aroma of Chef's ravioli wafted out. Immediately Trip's mouth watered and his stomach clenched. It'd been several hours since he'd last eaten, including the meal he'd refused when the steward told him the Captain sent it down. Trip wasn't dwelling on his anger at Jon. But he knew it was there, and he sure as h—l wasn't going to let the man assuage any guilt by feeding Trip.

Besides, he hadn't been all that hungry at the time, anyway.

Trip's interest in the food subsided momentarily when he heard a mechanical hiss from the Decon chamber. He set the plate down on the floor quickly and went back to the window. The sliding doors to the back room opened to reveal Phlox, clad in the bulky bronze EV suit.

"Hello, Commander!" he greeted cheerfully, waving one arm.

"Hey, Doc," Trip nodded. "Mal's in the bathroom, he went in to get some water and got tired…"

"Yes, I _am_ monitoring his activities from Sickbay, Mr. Tucker," Phlox commented reassuringly, lumbering his way towards the bathroom.

"Hey Mal, Phlox is here," Trip prodded. "Come on and get up now, he's gonna help you back in the bed."

Shakily Mal tried to sit up, then kneel. He teetered precariously, Trip tensing from outside the window, then steadied himself on the door frame. "I'm tired," he repeated wearily.

"I know, darlin'," Trip told him gently. "You can go back to sleep once Doc helps you back in bed."

Phlox assisted Mal to his feet. "Come on then, Mal," he said pleasantly, guiding the other man back to the bed. They kept referring to it as a 'bed' but it was actually more of a padded bench—surely not as comfortable as a real bed. But possibly easier to get in and out of.

"I can't sleep," Mal complained in a rush of breath, as if he had been working up the energy to speak for several minutes. "I can't breathe."

"There now, sit down," Phlox instructed. "Perhaps if I—"

"What did he say?" Trip interrupted worriedly. "He can't breathe? What does he mean?" He remembered Mal's throat swelling shut with a bite of pecan pie and immediately banished that memory.

"He is rather congested, Commander," Phlox replied patiently. He appeared to be adjusting Mal's pillows so the other man could recline instead of lying flat. "I believe that is making it difficult for him to sleep."

"Well, can't you give him something?"

Phlox gave Trip a look. "'Giving him something' would rather defeat the purpose of this exercise, Mr. Tucker."

Trip sighed and leaned against the window ledge, watching as Phlox arranged a blanket over Mal and feeling utterly pointless. "You, um, you didn't get his one foot covered there, Doc." Phlox corrected the oversight. A few minutes later the dirty tissues had been disposed of (though Mal seemed to produce new ones all the time), the used plates had been dumped in a decontamination bin, and Mal was sucking on a fresh apple juice with plenty of water at hand.

"It doesn't taste right," he complained.

"That's 'cause your nose is stuffed up, buddy," Trip explained.

Mal looked confused. "But I—" He broke off and leaned his head back. "Forget it. I don't care." Trip smiled, just a little, at the admission, even though it was another sign of the illness's strength.

"There now," Phlox announced. "I believe I have done all that I set out to do here. Is there anything else I can get you, Mal?"

"No, thank you, Doctor," Mal responded politely, followed by a nasty hacking cough. Phlox exited the chamber.

"You try and get some rest now, baby," Trip suggested. "I'm gonna be right out here."

"Okay. Thank you, Trip."                                                                                   

_Gets a dangerous disease on my behalf and he's thankin' me for it,_ Trip thought darkly. Then he quickly tossed that thought aside and focused on the pasta he was about to eat, hoping Mal could enjoy the meal by proxy.

 

Trip jerked awake suddenly and immediately regretted it as all his muscles protested sleeping on the deck plating, leaning against the wall. He was also uncomfortably cold, though someone had thoughtfully draped a blanket over him at some point.

"Ah, good morning, Commander," Phlox greeted, turning briefly from the monitor he was scrutinizing.

"How's Mal?" Trip asked in a groggy voice, stretching carefully. It also hadn't been the most refreshing sleep of his life.

"About the same," Phlox replied, in a tone that was not encouraging. "His system is still not manufacturing the antibodies."

"Well—why not?"

Phlox's look seemed to say, _Got three hours and a degree in immunology?_ "This is a very complex disease," he reminded Trip gently. "Although I would have preferred to see some progress by now, I don't think there is yet cause for alarm."

"You'll let me know when it's time to be alarmed, right?" Trip countered, slightly sardonic.

"Of course, Commander," Phlox assured him. "At present Mal's symptoms are not unlike that of a case of influenza—uncomfortable but hardly dangerous." His tone became a bit more delicate. "I must say, however, that sleeping in a hallway is hardly conducive to your _own_ health, Commander."

Trip finally stood, straightening his back. "I'm fine, Doc," he insisted. "I just wanted to stay near Mal in case he needed anything."

"But as you are not allowed to go into the Decon chamber, you would hardly have been able to tend to his needs," the doctor pointed out carefully. "Unless you are speaking purely of emotional support."

Trip narrowed his eyes at the physician. "Well that's important, too, Doc," he said, feeling slightly defensive. "I think Mal feels better knowin' I'm out here."

"I'm sure he does," Phlox agreed with a smile. "He does, at least, _know_ you're out here—he called me in the middle of the night, after you'd fallen asleep, and asked me to bring you a blanket."

Trip sighed and shook his head. Of course Mal would still try to take care of him, he should have guessed. Coughing and sniffling from the chamber caught his attention and he peered through the window. "Hey baby, you awake?"

"Yes," Mal replied stickily. "I can't sleep."

"I'm sorry, buddy. Is there anything I can get you? What about some hot tea, might open your nose a little," Trip suggested.

"Okay," Mal agreed, with disinterest.

"Won't get in the way, will it, Doc?" Trip queried.

"I shouldn't think so, no." The doctor started to turn away. "I'm returning to Sickbay now, Mr. Tucker. I will keep monitoring him from there, of course. I would advise you to get some proper rest and a meal or two soon."

"Yeah, okay, Doc," Trip agreed distractedly, watching Mal through the window. "I'm gonna do that soon." Phlox gave him a look that suggested he didn't quite believe that promise, but Trip missed it.

"Anything you want to eat, buddy?" Trip asked Mal.

The other man shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Trip was having none of that. He entered the comm code for the galley. "Tucker here. Could I get a bowl of chocolate pudding and a flask of hot tea down in Decon?"

" _Of course, Commander. Right away_."

"I like pudding," Mal mumbled sleepily.

"That's right, I know you do." Trip struggled to think of some way he could help Mal even though he was prevented from touching him. "Hey, how 'bout I cue up some music for you?" he offered. "Just some slow jazz or something, and I'll keep the volume low so you can sleep if you want."

"Okay," Mal agreed, and Trip busied himself with selecting some pieces from his personal music collection for a few minutes. By the time the steward arrived there was some (hopefully soothing) jazz drifting over the Decon chamber's comm system.

"Here's your tea and pudding, baby," Trip pointed out, after the food items had been successfully irradiated. "Can you get up to get them?" And why hadn't anyone ever thought to design a robotic arm, or a remote-control anti-grav unit, to deliver things to sick people in Decon? As soon as this nonsense was over, Trip was going to get to work building such a thing.

Slowly Mal stumbled towards the door. But instead of opening the bin, he leaned on the window ledge, panting slightly, and smiled thinly at Trip. "Hello."

"Hey, buddy." Trip put his hand up to the glass and Mal mimicked the movement on his side of the barrier. "You feel any better today?"

"No," Mal sighed. "I'm sorry, Trip."

"Oh, what for," Trip said dismissively. "You're just tryin' to protect me. Actually," he added uncomfortably, "I should be apologizing to _you_ , for some of the stuff I said before—"

"Something about eating pudding?" Mal asked, with a bit of a smirk. With effort he opened the bin and pulled out the food Trip had ordered.

"Something like that," the engineer agreed sheepishly. He knew Mal would forgive him; but that didn't mean it was okay to have yelled at him like that.

Trip watched Mal weave a bit as he opened the flask of tea, and the window between them developed a foggy patch from the released steam. Mal held his nose gingerly over the liquid, inhaling.

"Help at all?" Trip queried hopefully.

"A little," Mal allowed. "For a second I feel wonderful and free… then the snot rushes back in and clogs things up again."

Trip couldn't help but chuckle a bit at Mal's tone. He sounded so _put out_ by the whole thing. "Yeah, havin' a stuffed-up nose is no fun, buddy. Why don't you sit back down with those, I don't want you to tire out."

Mal shuffled dutifully back to his bed and tried to display an interest in the pudding. "Get a little down at least, if you can," Trip advised worriedly. If it came to it, Phlox could hook Mal up on IVs, of course… but that would surely mean Mal wasn't making progress. And Trip didn't want to think along those lines.

"Are you going to eat something, too, Trip?" Mal asked, forcing himself to lick a little pudding off the spoon.

"Sure, buddy," Trip insisted. "But I'm not hungry right now. Maybe next time you take a nap I'll go down to the Mess Hall." Anything that encouraged Mal to get some sleep…

"You probably need a shower, too," Mal added, wrinkling his nose.

Trip grinned. "Now I _know_ you can't smell me in there, buddy, so don't you complain too much."

"I wish _I_ could take a shower," Mal went on, gazing speculatively at the bathroom.

"Don't try it," Trip ordered sharply. "Not unless the Doc says it's okay. I don't want you to get dizzy and fall."

Mal let out a long sigh and set the barely-dented pudding aside. "I don't like being sick."

"Who does?" Trip commiserated. "You just think about all the fun we're gonna have when you get well again. Think about what movies we're gonna watch, and the food we're gonna eat, and playin' with your ball…"

"That's nice," Mal murmured drowsily.

"You get some sleep now, darlin'," Trip suggested. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

 

"Commander Tucker. Commander Tucker."

Sleepily Trip forced his eyes open and saw a pair of rusty red legs in front of him. The legs seemed to be speaking to him. After a moment it occurred to him to see what the legs were attached to and craned his neck up to see the face of the ship's First Officer.

"Commander Tucker," T'Pol repeated.

"Present," Trip croaked. "How's Mal?"

"Dr. Phlox has given me no new information," she replied.

"I should, um…" Trip tried to squirm out from under his blanket and stand, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. "S—t. I think my leg fell asleep." He moved the offending body part with his hands, hoping to alleviate the constricted blood flow or pinched nerve or whatever it was that caused these things.

"I believe all of you fell asleep," T'Pol observed with some confusion, and Trip smiled faintly.

"You know, sometimes you remind me of Mal," he remarked.

"I shall endeavor to take that as a compliment," T'Pol told him.

"Okay," Trip agreed, still groggy. "Not really sure what it was myself." He began trying to push himself into a standing position. "Gimme a hand, would ya?"

"To what purpose?"

Now Trip was getting a little annoyed. And his leg was tingling with that rather painful pins-and-needles feeling, which didn't help. "So I can stand up and check on Mal, of course!"

T'Pol glanced at the monitor behind her. "He is asleep right now."

"Oh, well then." Trip dropped back to the deck plating. He could at least wait until he could stand on his own, in that case. He glanced back up at T'Pol. "So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

The Vulcan blinked at him. "I am considerably more mature than a 'girl' in both our cultures, Commander, though I assume the adjective of 'nice' was also meant as a compliment," she responded. "And I am standing outside the Decon chamber because I wish to speak with you."

Trip smiled tiredly. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You have been waiting outside this door for the past three days," T'Pol reminded him. "During that time you have eaten four meals, showered and changed your uniform once, and obtained approximately ten hours of sleep."

"Really?" Trip replied, with some interest. "That's fascinating. I could have sworn I'd gotten twelve hours, at least."

"I _did_ say 'approximately,'" T'Pol pointed out.

"That's right, you did," Trip agreed. He attempted to stand again, this time more successfully. "Well, thanks for the stats, T'Pol, I appreciate it." He lurched towards the window in the door, leaning on the ledge heavily as he peered inside. Mal did indeed appear to be asleep in his bed, the IV bags Phlox had hooked up keeping him adequately fed and watered.

"You have also not reported to Engineering in that time," T'Pol went on, trying to regain Trip's attention.

He put his back to the door, using it to help prop himself up. "I hope you weren't lookin' forward to writin' me up for that, T'Pol," he replied dryly. "Far as I know I've got our revered Captain's leave to be bummin' around here. And besides"—he gestured to the data pad lying on top of the crumpled blanket in the corner—"I've been keepin' up with the goings-on."

"I am not questioning your professionalism," T'Pol countered. Trip was glad she didn't add 'this time' to the end of that statement. "However I feel your personal choices are detrimental to your health and thus, may eventually affect your duties as Chief Engineer of this vessel."

"Aw, that's sweet of you, T'Pol," Trip grinned. "Actually I'm feelin' pretty good, but thanks for askin'." He turned back to the window.

T'Pol stepped closer to him, so close that Trip was almost startled. She had to be _well_ beyond her comfort zone of personal space at the moment, especially considering his noted lack of showering.

"I believe you are allowing your concern for Mal to override your common sense," T'Pol laid out for him. "Making yourself ill will not in any way speed his recovery."

"I'm not _ill_ ," Trip protested. Not yet, anyway. "And I don't see what business it is of yours, anyway. Hess is doing a d—n fine job in Engineering without me."

"I would not wish Lt. Hess to take over your position permanently," T'Pol answered. "And I would not wish to see you become a patient of Dr. Phlox's as well, due to preventable self-neglect."

Trip gave her a look, trying to categorize the not-quite-expression on her face. On someone else he might have called it 'concern.' But maybe he could call it that on T'Pol, too.

"'Preciate the thought, T'Pol," he said again, more sincerely this time. "Just… Mal's kinda at the top of my priority list right now. Other stuff just doesn't seem so important." He went back to brooding at the window, T'Pol standing silently beside him.

 

"Pneumonia?" Trip repeated dully.

"You're certain, Doctor?" Archer asked. Someone had to.

"Of course," Phlox replied. "This was a possible symptom of the disease that was discussed with Mal prior to the inoculation."

"Did you describe to him what it _meant_?" Trip wanted to know, staring through the window into the Decon chamber. He couldn't tell if Mal was asleep or not; his eyes were closed, but the breaths he drew were shallow and irregular.

"And he still hasn't started producing antibodies?" Archer pressed.

"I'm afraid not," Phlox admitted. "Although his system was compatible according to the tests I ran, there may be unusual aspects of Viridian biology which are interfering with the immune system's response. I have continued to run tests, of course, but so far I have no theories."

"Is he in danger?" Archer queried.

"Not at present," Phlox assured them. "Though unpleasant, pneumonia itself is not necessarily fatal. I will of course be monitoring his condition closely, however, as the illness can degenerate quickly."

"Maybe we should just call this whole thing off now," Trip suggested, trying to sound reasonable. Archer and Phlox looked at him. "He's not responding to the disease the way we thought he would. There must be something wrong, something that isn't working. Why don't you just give him something to get this bug out of his system, and I'll give it a go instead?" Archer and Phlox exchanged a glance that Trip found very suspicious. "What?" he demanded.

Archer took charge. "Trip—there's nothing Phlox can give him."

"What do you mean?"

"The antibodies Mal is supposed to produce naturally are the only known cure, in any species," Phlox clarified. "I've been looking into it, of course, but the Kasarans' research is quite comprehensive on this point."

"So either he gets better on his own, or he dies," Trip summarized shortly. He gaze had turned into a glare.

"I can do certain things to help alleviate his symptoms, but essentially, yes," Phlox admitted.

"Well then why don't you start _doing_ some of those things instead of letting him suffer!"

"Trip!" Archer chided. "The doctor is doing everything he can to help Mal. The situation was explained to him completely before we began. He agreed to it."

"Well someone mighta told _me_ it was a one-way ticket," Trip snapped, turning back to the window. Mal's eyes were open now, and he was staring straight at Trip with a concerned expression on his face. _Happy thoughts. Butterflies and hot showers and pineapples and things to chase_ —

"Trip, I'm sorry," Archer tried, interrupting his thoughts. "I should have been more—"

"Jon, would you mind leavin' now?" Trip cut in, his voice as even as he could make it. "I'm tryin' not to upset Mal by getting angry."

"Of course," Archer answered after a moment. Trip didn't watch him leave.

 

Phlox stopped a meter or so from the door to the Decon chamber, trying to ascertain what Trip was doing. He appeared to be holding something up to the window, something bright blue and furry, and moving it around.

"Maintenance can be called to clean that window, Commander Tucker, if you find it dirty," Phlox pointed out helpfully.

Trip turned suddenly, slightly surprised to see him. "What?"

"I apologize for startling you," the doctor said, coming closer. "May I ask, what _is_ that unusual furry object?"

"This? It's a toy," Trip shrugged. "A stuffed… something. Hamster, maybe. Don't Denobulan kids have stuffed animal toys, or dolls?"

"Not in my experience," Phlox replied pleasantly. "On my planet children play with electronic toys for the most part. We generally don't make representations of living beings."

"Oh." Trip didn't know what else to say to that. "Well, this is a little stuffed critter I got for Mal. See?" Phlox took the offered object and examined it. "I was just kinda, you know, holdin' up to the window and makin' it dance for Mal. He likes that kinda thing."

"How… anthropomorphic," Phlox observed, with good humor. He handed the toy back.

"Listen, Doc, you're going in there pretty soon, right?" Trip asked leadingly.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "I'm going to remove some of the fluid from Mal's lungs again."

Trip declined to think about that. "Well, I was wonderin'—could you take this to Mal?" He indicated the furry blue rodent. "He might like to have something soft to cuddle. I shoulda thought of it before…"

"I _could_ bring it to him, Commander," Phlox allowed slowly, thinking it over. "But— _afterwards_ , everything Mal had been in close contact with while ill would need to be thoroughly sterilized to prevent the spread of the infection. I'm afraid that object would not survive the sterilization process."

"Oh." Trip looked numbly down at the stuffed creature, trying to think. "Well, I'm sure Mal's gonna want this when he gets well again, so…" Phlox could hardly miss the forced optimism in Trip's tone. The engineer perked up suddenly. "Hey, I know!" He set the toy on the floor and began unzipping his uniform.

"May I ask why you're disrobing, Commander?" Phlox said with bemusement.

Having wriggled out of the top half of his uniform, Trip proceeded to strip off the black vest that constituted the next layer, leaving only his 'Starfleet blue' undershirt. He held the black garment out to the doctor, who wrinkled his nose only slightly at its odor.

"I've missed a few showers," Trip began, though that much was obvious to Phlox, "so that oughta smell like me. He might like that. And you can incinerate it or whatever afterwards." He nodded hopefully. "Well?"

"Although I would normally prefer that all items brought into a sickroom be thoroughly washed first," Phlox began delicately, "in this case I'm sure I can make an exception."

A few minutes later the back room of the Decon chamber opened and the doctor appeared, once again clad in the EV suit. "Doc's got a present for you, baby," Trip announced to Mal, grinning a little desperately. Giving Trip a look that said he wondered if this was really a good idea, Phlox draped the vest across Mal's lap.

The dark-haired man handled the soft fabric, trying to figure out what it was. Finally he pressed it to his face and inhaled as deeply as he was able, between the fluid building up in his lungs and the breathing apparatus attached to his nose. "Oh! It smells like Trip!" he sighed happily. "How lovely. Thank you, Doctor." His voice was a harsh rasp.

"You're welcome," Phlox told him. "If you would please remove your shirt…"

 

Jon approached the Decon chamber gingerly. To say he'd had little contact with Trip since this disaster began would be an understatement. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Trip placed the blame for Mal's condition solely on Jon. And he was absolutely right to do so, Jon felt. He had looked at the data, weighed the risks, and chosen Mal over Trip. He had chosen Mal to face the danger in order to spare his Chief Engineer—and best friend. And now it looked as though Mal were going to die, and his friendship would burn to ashes. As soon as they got close enough to Earth, he had a feeling he would lose his Chief Engineer as well.

But Jonathan Archer was not a man who let the things he loved slip away easily.

Phlox stood at the computer monitor, reviewing the data streaming across the screen. He'd made his apologies already, but no one blamed him; he had done all he could to save the lives put before him, both Mal's and the Kasarans'. But Mal's body simply refused to assist. Like the Kasarans themselves, he seemed to have no way to ward off the attacking disease.

Trip sat on the deck plating, leaning against the door, one hand resting on the cool metal. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull and he didn't look up at Archer's approach.

"Where's Mal?" the Captain asked softly, peering through the window. The bed was empty.

Phlox directed his attention to the video monitor. Mal was sitting on the floor of the Decon chamber, leaning against the door in an identical position to Trip. Only the twelve-centimeter-thick door stood between them, but it might as well have been twelve lightyears.

Archer's eyes flickered to a corner of the screen, showing Mal's heartbeat. It was slow, too slow Phlox had said, and erratic. He did not have long.

Jon knelt on the floor near Trip. He reached out a hand but the other man turned away from it; Jon was not surprised. He wondered if Trip would ever speak to him again.

A wet cough came over the comm system. The irony was too bitter for Jon to contemplate: the man who was terrified of water who died by drowning, with no water in sight.

"Trip?" The voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm here," Trip told him, his hand stroking the metal door gently.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," Trip replied, and the eyes that he thought had been emptied already began to well up again.

"Don't… be angry… with the Captain," Mal advised, every word a struggle.

"I—" Jon could see in Trip's eyes that he wanted to protest—'I'm not angry at him'—but Trip couldn't lie to a man on his deathbed. So instead he said nothing.

"Don't… want you… to be alone," Mal went on, and Trip closed his eyes, the tears overflowing down his cheeks.

But he _would_ be alone. Trip had many friends—always had, as long as Jon had known him—but few people he was truly close to. On this ship it had been Mal, and always Jon—water polo and beer, dinner in the Captain's Mess, even the occasional planetary (mis)adventure. Suffering through disgusting diplomatic dinners and camping trips from h—l. Arguing about pirate pants and bear alerts. Nearly being pilloried for sleeping in the same bed. Nearly being suffocated in that glass egg underwater, surrounded by the most beautiful sea life Jon had ever seen. Those things would never happen again. Jon had destroyed that possibility the moment he had chosen Mal for this. Chosen Mal despite the fact that—

The glass egg. Mal had rescued them. Even though they were thirty meters underwater. Mal didn't know how to swim—but he had. Viridians couldn't hold their breath any longer than humans could—but he _had_ held it longer, to save Trip. It was impossible. But it had happened. Somehow Mal had made it happen. To save Trip.

Archer stood abruptly. "You might as well let Trip go in there, Phlox," he said, loudly and coldly. And quickly. "He can comfort Mal directly, and if he catches the disease from him, it will save you the trouble of inoculating him."

Phlox blinked at him. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't understand."

"If Mal dies"—it was a near certainty now, but even acting out this last desperate chance Jon couldn't make himself say 'when'—"I assume you'll want to get Trip going right away. Hopefully his immune system will respond better than Mal's."

"What the h—l are you talking about?" Jon heard from behind him, but he ignored it.

"Doctor?" he prompted Phlox. "The Kasarans are still waiting for their cure. How many hundreds of thousands have died while we wasted our time with Mal? It was a mistake to choose him, I admit—I'm sure Trip will make a much better host for their disease."

Phlox protested, "Captain, after seeing the unpredictable effect this disease had on Mal, I am certainly not comfortable—"

"You son of a b---h!" Trip grabbed Jon's shoulder and spun him around. "Don't you _dare_ say this was a waste of time!"

"It _was_ a waste," Jon insisted, all brisk efficiency. "Mal wanted to do this to protect you from risking your own life. But now he's going to die, and you'll have to risk your life anyway! These people need a cure, and only _you_ can provide it for them!"

Trip was shaking with rage. "If you think for _one second_ I'm going to—"

"Trip, your anger at me is completely justified," Jon snapped, and it was the most sincere thing he had said yet. "But don't take it out on the Kasarans. My choices aren't their fault."

Trip's thoughts slid across his face so easily, for a moment Jon wondered if this was what Mal felt like, able to read every nuance like words on a page. He knew exactly what Trip was going to do next. And yet he didn't duck.

"Gentlemen, please!" Phlox intervened, stepping between the two of them although Jon had no intention of getting up and punching Trip back. "You need to be paying attention to Mal right now," he told Trip, in a rarely-heard sharp tone.

"I will be," Trip replied fiercely. "Let me in there."

"Commander Tucker, I certainly can't—"

"You heard the Captain give the order," Trip spat out, sparing a contemptuous glance for Jon. "I am going into that Decon chamber, and I am gonna hold Mal until the end, and I am gonna give the Kasarans their g-----n cure!" He started to stalk in the direction of the back entrance.

"No!" Mal had hoisted himself up to the window, breathing hard. "No, Trip, don't!"

"Captain, this is completely irresponsible and dangerous—"

"It's the only way," Archer growled, standing stiffly, "to get a cure. I know it. Trip knows it." The note of false sympathy he put in his voice nearly choked him. "Just hang on, Mal. Trip will be there soon."

"No no no no no NO—" Mal's breath caught and he doubled over, dropping to his knees on the Decon chamber floor. Trip started to run. He had to get in there before it was—

"Commander, wait a moment!" the doctor shouted urgently, staring at the monitor.

Trip wanted to ignore him, but there was something in his voice. "What?"

"Please come back here." Phlox pointed something on the monitor out to Archer.

"Come back, Trip," Jon requested, meeting the other man's suspicious gaze.

Trip returned. "What is it?" All he could look at on the monitor was Mal, curled up on the floor of the chamber.

Phlox pointed to one number in the stream of data, as excited as Trip had ever seen him. "His white blood cell count is rising. His body is starting to fight the infection!"

 

Slowly Mal blinked his eyes open, squinting in the dim light. The sounds and smells around him weren't like the Decon chamber he'd spent the last few days in—more like… Sickbay.

"You awake, baby?" Mal turned his head towards the soft, familiar voice as Trip set his data pad aside and leaned forward. Their hands immediately met.

"One of us smells rather a lot," Mal remarked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Trip grinned. "Sorry, buddy, I think it's you. Neither one of us has had great personal hygiene lately, but _I_ just took a shower a couple hours ago."

Mal wrinkled his nose. "Oh dear, how awful."

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," Trip went on. "I discovered the other day that right here in Sickbay, Phlox has got a bathtub—a real, stretch-out-and-soak bathtub." Mal's eyes positively lit up. "For medicinal purposes only, of course. But I think you deserve a soak or two."

"That would be lovely," Mal sighed happily. He looked Trip up and down, as much as he could. "You aren't ill—I guess you didn't break into the Decon chamber? I don't remember very well…"

"Nope, didn't have to," Trip confirmed. "You saved me again, darlin'. Captain figured, if he could get people thinkin' I was still in danger, maybe you would somehow—come up with the goods."

"And did I?" Mal inquired curiously.

Trip's grin broadened. "Sure did, buddy. They're gonna be namin' schools and cities and monuments after you on Kasara—you saved their entire civilization." He gave a mock look of severity. "But don't let it go to your head."

"I won't," Mal promised. "But you know I didn't do it to save _them_ , Trip, any of it. I only wanted to save _you_."

Trip's expression softened. "I know, buddy. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. Sure nothing _I_ can think of."

"You were kind to me, Trip," Mal reminded him simply, squeezing his hand. "When no one else in the universe was." Trip smiled a little, though Mal could tell he wasn't convinced of the enormity of that act. "But Mal Elementary has a nice ring to it," he added lightly.

Trip's grin returned. "The city of Malville?"

"Ooh, perhaps Mount Mal?" They both dissolved into chuckles.

"Phlox said not to get too rowdy," a new voice said, and the two of them turned to see Jon standing just inside the privacy curtain. The remark was made in jest, of course, but his posture was wary; he didn't know if he'd be welcomed.

Mal felt the emotions warring within Trip. The Captain had nearly gotten Mal killed, and Mal understood the depths of Trip's despair and resentment because of that. But he had also figured out how to save Mal's life.

Mal squeezed Trip's hand again, hoping the gesture conveyed his support. He himself held no ill will towards the Captain—he had provided Mal with the opportunity to save Trip from harm, after all.

"We're not gettin' rowdy," Trip finally responded, and though his tone wasn't as easy as it once was, it was far from dissuasive. "We're savin' that for when Mal gets well again. Still," he added, "Phlox might appreciate us having some supervision." He made eye contact with Jon. "If you'd like to stay."

Jon's shoulders relaxed somewhat and he accepted the offer, settling down on the other side of the bed. Mal promptly took his hand, much to the officers' surprise. "Um, so, Mal, how are you feeling?"

"Grimy and disgusting," Mal moaned. "I'm sure I shan't _ever_ be properly clean. But Trip has promised me a real stretch-out-and-soak bath!"

"For medicinal purposes only," Trip added with a pretend-stern expression.

"I'm sure Trip needs to be cleaned and groomed as well," Mal went on, gazing at the engineer critically. "He's in a frightful disarray. And I shudder to imagine the state the cabin is in."

"Wait'll you see the J12 access tube," Trip grimaced. "Had some kind of minor overload while I was away. Hess says there's about three meters on either side of the panel coated with greasy smoke residue."

"Oh, can I clean it out? Please please please?" Mal asked excitedly. "Don't let anyone else do it, Trip!"

"Savin' it all for you, buddy," Trip assured him.

"I also heard Chef was planning a special treat to commemorate your recovery," Archer put in. "Something about… an enormous fruit salad?"

"Might even get a little milk," Trip teased. "Just a little, now."

"Oh, stop," Mal begged. "It's all _far_ too much excitement." Pause. "What about pudding?"

"I'll get you a bowl big enough to bathe in," Trip promised, then added quickly, "but don't actually, you know, _bathe_ in it…"

"I think that would be a waste of pudding," Mal agreed sagely.

"Did you tell him about Movie Night yet?" Archer prompted fondly.

"Just you take a look at the line-up we've got for _you_ ," Trip began eagerly, pulling up the list on his data pad.

Jon listened to Trip chatter on about the Technicolor musicals he'd planned for Mal, drinking in the pleasant tone. He had truly feared he would never be in the same room with that voice, that smile, those twinkling eyes again. But maybe there was still a relationship there to salvage.

He met Mal's eyes for a moment and the other man nodded, almost imperceptibly, before returning his attention to Trip, and Jon marveled again at Mal's ability to read him so well. Maybe there was still a relationship to salvage, as long as Trip never found out one thing currently known only to Jon, Phlox, and Mal: while Mal had been, technically, a compatible host for the Kasarans' disease, biochemically Trip was by far the _better_ match.


End file.
